Trigger Warnings: This is a dark Volde wins story with all the perils that comes with it. There will be references to major character deaths as well as slight dub con.

Genre: Drama, Mystery, Romance, Voldemort wins-Alternate Universe

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Summary: Five years after the war, the Wizarding world has changed drastically. The Dark Lord reigns supreme over both the Magical and Muggle world. But when witches are rendered infertile, Lord Voldemort must enact a controversial law that contrasts dramatically with the Death Eater manta. Death Eaters are forced to turn to Muggles and Muggle-borns to secure the future of their race. When Draco is faced with this decision, there is only one witch he finds suitable. But locked away in Azkaban with very little of her mind remaining, how will the newly dubbed Lord Malfoy secure her release?

Beta Love: RooOjoy

A/N: This was written for the Betas and Wordsmiths Marriage Law OS Challenge. The results are in and this story received Runner-up for Best Plot, Best Drama, and Most Unique Marriage Law. Upon request, I have decided to expand this story. I forsee a ten chapter fic with bi-monthly updates. I'm eager to see what you think of the story! Thanks for reading C:

The words reverberated through the air—loud and final.

For a moment, no one spoke. Draco felt anxiousness grip him as he surveyed the room, oddly curious to gauge everyone's reaction, and feeling inexplicably disconnected from the situation.

"Ridiculous," Theo swore, getting up and pacing around the small parlor. He shot daggers at the Ministry Notificational, the offensive messenger orb swirling and silent, unlike it was just a few moments ago. "A joke—it has to be."

"When have you known Him to joke?" Draco asked quietly.

"It can't be," Narcissa cried shrilly. "It's positively mad."

"Careful, Mother. We wouldn't want to question Him."

"Thicknesse is bat shit crazy," Lucius raged. "The Dark Lord would never stand for this."

"That's right," agreed Theo. "Pius' brain is fried. It's a wonder he's been allowed to stay on for this long at the Ministry."

Draco absently steepled his fingers under his chin, eyes calculating. "Have you all vacated your senses? Do you not see how this rings true? The Dark Lord would never allow for a Notificational to be compromised. If there's one thing to be sure of—it's that this edict has the Dark Lord's approval."

"Impossible." Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, a look of panic etched on her face. "The Dark Lord would never…he simply wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't he?" Draco arched an eyebrow. "Truth be told, I'm surprised none of you saw it coming. When is the last time two Purebloods were able to produce a child? Certainly not in the twenty-first century. Any magical births have all been crossed with Muggle-borns, or even Half-bloods."

"Mudbloods," Lucius corrected sharply.

Draco merely inclined his head. "Really, you all should have expected it. The Dark Lord may be proud, but he would not allow for our magical species to be exterminated thanks to that pride. Even wizards and witches must survive and adapt."

"But I don't understand it," Narcissa argued. "We had little difficulty conceiving you, Draco. How is it that Pureblood unions are not proving fertile?"

"Think about it, Mother. You and Father only had one son, did you not try for more? I know Aunt Bella and Uncle Rodolphus tried, and many other Pureblood families. Face it—the Sacred Twenty-Eight is but a dying dream. It's impossible to keep up blood purity and there's been far too much interbreeding. It's as the edict says—we must adapt to this new world."

"Well I'm certainly not soiling myself with some Mudblood filth, or a Half-blood at that," Theo said adamantly. "I'd rather let my line wither off and die."

"Theo, darling, you can't possibly mean that," Narcissa, placed a soothing hand his shoulder. "It's bad, yes, but surely you can do your duty."

Theo set his features in what could only be described as a pout. "Possibly, yes. If it was only a matter of putting my seed in some Mudblood's belly. But marriage? And with sacred wizard's vows, no less? The man has lost his mind."

"Nott," Lucius warned.

"Those vows are ancient," Draco said, deep in thought. "Rich in binding and fertility spells. I'm sure that has much to do with it."

"And what of our witches? Must they be reduced to mistresses, then?" Theo looked around, challengingly. "I don't bloody believe it. Couple with the inferior Muggle race, or be exterminated. It's laughable."

"It's quite serious, actually," Lucius said. "We certainly can't allow ourselves to let the Muggles get the last laugh. The Dark Lord sees that."

Draco shot his friend a withering stare. "The witches will need to select Muggle or Muggle-born husbands, as well. It goes both ways, Nott."

Theo sat down heavily on the lush armchair. "I don't believe it," he mused. "I actually may have to do this."

"Don't worry, boys." Lucius straightened, adjusting his collar. Draco winced at the way his father still referred to them as boys, though they were twenty-three, for Salazar's-sake. The elder Malfoy looked quickly over to Nott. "Your father and I will go to the Muggle factory ourselves. Cygnus and I will select the best Mudbloods available, before anyone else should get their pick."

Theo looked uncertain, but resigned. "Yes, alright. I suppose that will be best."

"The problem is," Draco started. "There aren't many Mudbloods to choose from."

"Oh, but you can't couple with a Muggle, Draco, dear. What if the child turns out to be a squib?" Narcissa was fraught with worry.

"That's why we'll get there first," Lucius said, determined.

"But I don't want any Mudbloods from the Muggle factory," Draco sneered.

"But Draco," Narcissa cried. "You know what the edict said—those unable to find a suitable Mudblood companion must then resort to choosing a Muggle. You can't mean to have that fate, darling? Or worse—end the noble Malfoy line for good!" Narcissa looked near to hyperventilating, so unlike the typical cool, calm demeanor his mother was known to carry.

"Draco," Lucius hissed. "How dare you even worry your mother like that?"

"Because it's true, Father. If I can't have the Mudblood I wish to have, I'll have none whatsoever."

"Well, who is it that you want, Son? You shall not be deprived," Lucius promised.

"There is only one suitable Mudblood for me." His father's smile froze as the parlor fell deathly silent. "I'll have her, or no one."

"Draco." Narcissa made a valiant effort to appeal to her son. "You can't possibly mean that Mudblood."

He shrugged. "And why not?"

Theo scoffed. "The Dark Lord would never allow it. Your bloody bonkers is what you are."

"Draco." Lucius' face had flushed a deep red. "There's no possible way, and I won't hear another word about it."

Draco looked down in a decidedly bored manner as he examined his nails. "You said I could have any Mudblood I please."

"The last surviving member of the Golden Trio? Really, Draco? It's you that's vacated your senses." Theo chuckled, convinced his friend was merely toying with them.

"Security cautions can be made, of course. Wards, charms, the whole nine. She would be bound to the Manor," Draco ignored the outraged gasps around him.

"But darling," Narcissa said beseechingly. "She's been in Azkaban for the better part of four years. Do you imagine she has somehow managed to not go mad?"

"Yes," Lucius jumped in. "Take your Aunt Bella, for example. You know first hand what Azkaban can do to a person."

Narcissa shot her husband a deathly glare. "Or take your father, he was only in for a few months, yet came back forever changed."

Lucius bared his teeth in anger.

"Exactly," Draco pounced, getting up swiftly from his seat. "And do you remember what happened when dear Father was otherwise occupied? I was inducted into the Death Eaters. I was given a mission—of which I executed, getting this family back in the Dark Lord's good graces. He said I could ask him for anything, of which I did not. Well, now he has something I want, and I believe I have good reason to ask."

Realization seemed to dawn on Draco's captivated audience, who now looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and fear, finally able to see the fierce determination in his cool, gray eyes.

"I want Hermione Granger."

~oOo*oOo~

Cold.

Frigid.

Empty.

Always so wrapped in emptiness—enveloped in darkness.

But it was her life, and she'd become used to it. She knew what to expect. Unlike before.

Before…

She shivered at the thought of before.

Her mind immediately shut down at the notion. As far as she was concerned, there was no before, only now. And now was cold and empty. She huddled in the corner, the warmest option if anything in her dank cell could be considered warm, for as long as she could remember. When she sensed the other-than-nothingness floating by, she raised her hands to shield her face, curling in as small of a ball as she could manage. Occasionally, her handlers brought her sustenance. It had no taste or smell that she could distinguish, but she would eat it—there was no option not to. A memory of refusing tickled at her brain, but that was before, and she did not dwell on before.

Before was pain and…surprises. They were not pleasant surprises. She never knew what was coming. Always new and inventive ways to force her to break. Now she had learned. She had always been a fast learner.

She frowned at that notion, wondering where it had come from. Always been a fast learner? A thought that flit across her brain as if this was a commonly accepted truth, though she couldn't fathom where it had come from.

No! Her mind clamped down on the concept, twisting and choking it like a vice. Danger, a voice in her head warned. That was before, and before has only ever been hurt and loss.

Yes, that was right—there was no point thinking on that any longer. Whatever was before was safely locked away and could not be used to hurt her anymore. She needn't worry because in this world, she knew what to expect. She would play by the rules…always by the rules.

~oOo*oOo~

"Sorry," High Inquisitor Umbridge chuckled lightly. "So silly of me, but it sounds like your request is to have a high level prisoner released? I must be mistaken, of course."

"No," Draco said, through gritted teeth. "You are not mistaken. The Ministry has decreed every Pureblood, unmarried and of age, take a spouse of Muggle heritage-"

"Do not proceed to lecture me on a Ministry edict High Mage Thicknesse and myself had a part in creating, under the Minister of Magic's direct order," the witch snapped.

Draco felt his mother put a comforting hand on his arm. "I was under the impression, I would be able to obtain an audience with the Minister, himself."

"The Dark Lord is a very busy wizard, Lord Malfoy. Surely you realize that. With the trouble in the African provinces, he cannot be bothered with trivial marriage requests involving his new edict."

"My son is within his right to request an audience with the Dark Lord, High Inquisitor." Narcissa stepped up to the podium, in front of her son and husband.

"What makes you believe that, Lady Malfoy?" Umbridge quirked a delicately arched brow in thinly veiled amusement.

"Draco played a pivotal role in the Wizarding war," Narcissa placated. "The Minister himself has expressed his gratefulness for my son's loyalty to the cause."

"Yes, and for that he's been awarded a lordship."

A muscle throbbed at Draco's temple and his wand hand itched. How he wished he could simply cast an Avada at the troublesome cow. "We only request an audience with the Dark Lord. I would like to bring my request formally to him. Or should I wait until my campaign starts to seek him out? Nott and I leave for Algiers next week."

"You're supposed to have selected a bride by then."

Narcissa swished her long, blond hair over her shoulder. "Then I suppose it would be in your best interest to pass along the message. Or would you rather we summon him ourselves?"

Umbridge's face pinched with concern and Draco could not help but smirk.

"Pius," Umbridge gestured the wizard forward. "Summon the Dark Lord, if you please." Thicknesse pulled up the sleeve of his robes, and pressed his wand against his Dark Mark. Umbridge watched him, black eyes glittering, before looking back up at the Malfoys. "He will refuse you, you know."

Draco exchanged a look with his parents. They knew this was a long shot.

~oOo*oOo~

No! No! No!

The other-than-emptiness was floating by…in droves. So many of them! But why? She hadn't done anything—hadn't felt anything. Why would they swarm around her? Her eyes widened in alarm and she resisted the urge to screw them back shut.

For the first time in a long time, she saw, really saw, her surroundings. It was dark, like it always was. But the outside was tinged a midnight blue, which signified daylight. She looked down at the tattered remnants of her dress—she practically blended in with the cobblestones around her, having seemed to have grown into it.

Her eyes flew to the open sky to the left of her cell, where she saw the dark entity she'd come to fear, float precariously close to her. No! No fear! No feeling—I don't feel anything! What have I done wrong?

The more she swore she would not care, the more she became alarmed. Doubt and worry flit across her face—more feelings than she had felt in ages. No! They'll notice me.

She could not expound on it further, as she heard footsteps approach her cell. The alarm she felt only intensified. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her stomach clenched violently. It wasn't feeding time, so why was she receiving visitors? Nervously, she wiped at her brow which she'd come to realize, to her horror, was sweating profusely. Her clammy hands did nothing to rectify this.

Her skull throbbed, almost pulsating with a life of it's own, and she had the uncanny feeling that there was something in there hoping wildly to be released. No! She clamped down on it, her mind screaming danger. Wracked with fear, she knew there was no way the other-than-emptiness wouldn't notice her now.

Bracing herself, she clutched the rags she wore harshly as she stared warily at the door.

The footsteps only grew louder and even though she'd attempted to prepare herself, she still recoiled away when the door slammed open.

Her handlers.

Both of them.

They were there and, bloody Morganna, but what could it mean?

Wait, bloody Morgana? Where had that come from and who was Morganna? No, her mind screamed with alarm. That's the before and we do not dwell on the before.

"Get up, you. You're coming with us."

Oh gods no! She couldn't leave, this was all she knew. Her safety. Beyond this was unimaginable terror. A world of pain and she could not bear it!

"Did you not hear me?" The one asked, and then he leaned over to the other. "Can you believe she was once considered the brightest witch of her age?"

The other nodded. "And now, reduced to this pitiful state. I have no idea what they want her for."

They?

She pressed herself flush up against the wall. No! She simply could not leave the confines of what she knew. They couldn't make her. A spark of fire lit up inside her and she marveled at the intensity of it. It was so foreign…and yet, oddly familiar.

"Won't come willingly? I was hoping not." With a sadistic smirk, the handler pulled her roughly to her feet, and she wrenched violently against him.

"Can't lift a starved prisoner on your own," the other scoffed as he headed to aid the first.

She fought them both, but they quickly managed to drag her up and lurch her body towards the exit, her feet scraping against the stone floor. The fear she felt intensified. She screamed.

She tasted the blood before she actually felt the slap across the face. She stayed quiet for a moment, letting them lead her to whatever atrocious fate they had planned for her. But when they rounded the corner, she thrashed with all her might against their relentless grip, it was the furthest she'd ever been from her cell!

"Come on, you." The handler gave her arm a rough twist and her skull collided against the stone wall, and she heard an audible snap in her wrist.

After that, she stayed limp, resolved not to make things any worse than she already had. Vaguely, she became aware of the colors changing. Whereas, before there was only fortified stone walls, high as the eye could see, now they were richly painted, and her eyes widened in disbelief as she felt her battered toes brush against marble.

She had never been here, not even in the before; of that she was sure.

Her eyes darted around of their own accord, taking note of the sconces on the wall allowing her to make out colors that were foreign to her. They assaulted her vision, and she felt so overwhelmed—she might faint.

Soon, the hands carrying her weight released her, and she crumpled onto the floor.

"For Salazar's-sake, did you have to be so rough with her?" The voice was sharp, but distinctly feminine; she found she liked the voice.

"Put up a fight, she did, Miss."

"I'm no Miss," she sneered in disgust. "I'm Lady Malfoy, and I'm disappointed you two oafs did not possess the fortitude to levitate her down here. I expect that may exceed your magical ability?"

The woman, Lady Malfoy, did not wait for them to speak. Instead she knelt to the ground and carefully reached for the prisoner's hand, pulling her tentatively into a sitting position.

She hissed at the pain in her wrist, and Lady Malfoy let go abruptly. "You did this to her," Lady Malfoy snarled at the handlers. "Brackium Emendo," she said, pointing a wooden stick at the girl's injured wrist. To her surprise, the two bones shifted and mended themselves. Lady Malfoy looked back down and spoke gently. "I won't waste time with niceties or ask you if you're alright; it's clear you are not. Instead, let this be a small comfort to you—Hermione Granger—I'm taking you home."

~oOo*oOo~

"Draco, young Draco." Voldemort paced stealthily around his large office. "I'm quite surprised by this request." Draco attempted to calm his breathing and adapted a mask of impassiveness. "Though there is no doubt Miss Granger is the Mudblood of all Mudbloods, she is a prisoner of war, and one that has caused us all much grief. She has proven a danger whilst working for the Order and even when first incarcerated in Azkaban. Do you know she first managed to escape?" Draco nodded stiffly. "Yes, she was much trouble. I worry at the prospect of granting her freedom."

"My Lord, you must not consider it freedom," Draco said silkily. "Merely a shift in incarcerations. For my manor will be a fortified prison."

"A luxurious one," Voldemort said, placing a long, pale finger on his chin, deep in thought.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord, but that is simply not so. I will make sure she deplores her captivity."

"But why Miss Granger? Last I was informed, she was but a shell of her old self. I doubt she will be cognizant of the change."

"My Lord, I was a student with Granger for six years. There are…traits, I would admire in my future heirs. I will admit, she did best me in many subjects during school, a fact of which I'm ashamed of. Her magical capability—Transfiguration and dueling—were par none. And if I have to sully my blood, I'd best do it with the Muggle-born that will help me produce powerful witches and wizards. I don't want to risk having squibs." Draco swallowed quietly, noticing by the red gleam in Voldemort's eye, he had told the dark wizard what he'd wanted to hear.

Voldemort stroked his chin in contemplation, then resumed his pacing. "She's skin and bones, I hear. Likely, she will not be fit to birth heirs for you."

"It's nothing my mother cannot handle, my Lord," Draco countered smoothly. "I'm sure she can get Granger fit physically in no time."

"If lasting damage hasn't been done."

"If I'm unable to put my child in Granger's belly, she can go back to Azkaban, my wife or not."

Voldemort arched what would have been his eyebrow at this. His gaze on Draco intensified, and Draco stilled himself for what was coming, already prepared. When he felt the brush of Legilimency, it was light and focused. Draco let Voldemort see what he wanted to see, not breaking the Dark Lord's stare.

A small smile appeared on Voldemort's face and the longer he looked into Draco's eyes, the wider it got. "An old school rivalry." He let out a grating laugh. "How marvelous. I do see, young Draco, that you do wish to secure yourself magically sufficient heirs, but there is also a desire to torment your former nemesis."

Draco nodded.

"Well, in that case, I do seem to remember granting you permission to ask of what you desire, after proving yourself at the Astronomy Tower, and then again at the Manor when you identified the Golden Trio. Now, glimpsing your mind, I feel like I would be remiss to not grant you this wish. You have my blessing."

Draco smiled wickedly, displaying his teeth, as Voldemort's sadistic face gave into laughter.

~oOo*oOo~